Tag: help

Religion, and other ramblings

I had a long, and lengthy, discussion with a friend of mine on the topic of religion and beliefs. For the longest time, I thought of myself as a pagan. Then, when belief failed me, I turned to atheism. Now, I am not so sure what to call myself. I cannot say there is nothing out there, but I cannot definitively say something is out there either. I simply do not know.

What I can say with certainty is there is much to this world that we still do not understand.

I believe gods were created out of necessity. People needed something to put their faith in to believe that everything would be okay. This could be anything from the weather patterns, food, fertility, even death. Every culture, every people that has walked this earth, has held some form of  belief. By the time Christianity was conceived, tens of thousands of cultures had been long dead, and with them their gods died as well.

We must then choose to belief that there is something, or there is nothing. Furthermore, we must then decide who is right, and who is wrong. But what if the truth was no one was completely right, and no one is completely wrong?

I am of the belief that true faith comes from acknowledging the fact that we simply do not know. We can strive to find answers, but ultimately, we just do not know. We want to be right so badly that we sometimes miss the fact that answers can lie in unsuspecting places. Religion does not explain everything, and science does not explain everything. If you were to put the two together, however, you get more answers, and the divide between people is thinned. If you acknowledge that answers can lie within multiple religions rather than just one, more answers are presented.

I do not believe in absolutes. Nothing is absolutely bad, and nothing is absolutely good. Nothing is absolutely correct, or absolutely wrong. Bad can have good intentions, and with bad comes lessons. Good can have bad intentions, and good can also have its own set of lessons. While we argue incessantly over who is right and who is wrong, we are missing the biggest picture of them all; we are all human beings sharing an earth together, and our bickering is leading to our own demise.

Religion, and even a lack thereof, has led to countless centuries of bloodshed. Our earth is covered in gallons of blood from fallen warriors willing to die for what they believed to be correct, and its the age old chess match. There is no winner when there is death. The biggest armies does not mean one is more correct than another. A religion with a massive following is no better than a smaller following. The number of followers does not dictate the level of faith a group of people may possess. The only thing numbers provide is a larger army from which wars can begin, and how history will remember the fallen.

Going back to a point I made earlier within this post, I believe gods were created from faith, and that faith came from necessity. As people moved from land to land, they took their gods with them. The people changed, evolved, and the gods were forced to do the same. That is why we see so many who call themselves by the same name, yet believe so differently. This is why we see so many beliefs that are similar to other religious beliefs from countries we’ve never visited.  What I see now, however, is stagnation. The world, like it or not, is constantly evolving. New gods are being created out of necessity, new beliefs are forming from necessity, yet people cling so dearly to the old ways they have always known. This is not the way the universe is supposed to work. This is not to say, of course, that we should completely abandon the “old ways”, but we should not stay stuck in them. If we remained stuck, you would not be sitting at your computer, or holding your phone, reading these words while constructing your responses. We must learn from the old ways, and bring the old into the new. We must take the lessons we’ve been given, but continue to move forward. We will be ancient history one day. Our future generations will look back on this generation in disgust, as we look back on certain aspects of our ancestors, and wonder “How could people sit by and allow this to happen?” Stagnation.

There must be a balance, a harmony. The longer we continue to allow ourselves to be divided, the more we see the world being destroyed. Soon, there will be no one to argue with of right and wrong, because there will be no one left to have an opinion.

I do not believe faith comes from a book written by men. In fact, I believe religious texts are one of the poisons of our society. A book that teaches people how to live can easily be rewritten, or mistranslated, to sway the public opinion. We have seen the evidence of this, in fact, with the changes made to the bible over time. Faith comes from within, belief comes from within, and we create our gods out of necessity. Each person serves a purpose, and therefore we must also accept that “bad” people also serve a purpose. With the recent popularity in Ted Bundy, I’ll use him as an example. Ted Bundy did terrible things, but from those terrible things, we got a unique insight into the way the mind of a serial killer functions. We have a better understanding of just how terrible the human mind can be, and we saw warning signs. We bettered our understanding of the evolution of a serial killer, While we focus on the acts done by the man, we also looked at the victims. Each death gives us more answers about the human body, the human vessel. Each day we continue to move forward and learn, and that is the way we are supposed to be. We are supposed to move forward and learn more so that we may have stronger beliefs in the capability of mankind.

From all the negative things that have happened, good has come out of them. Every experience shapes who we are as people. While some events have a bigger impact than others, we cannot point fingers and continue to hate one group or the other. Instead, we take the information, good and bad, and we learn from it. The situations thrown upon us are up to us to decide how we are going to react to them. Bad can be changed to good.

Perhaps I’m getting a bit rambling, and perhaps I’m even not making sense now. I honestly cannot tell. I can only hope these words make sense to someone out there. I wish these words could help the progression by helping people realize the importance of accepting change, of accepting progression, of accepting we do not know everything, and accepting that absolutes simply don’t exist. No one is right, no one is wrong, no one is bad, no one is good all the time. It is simply impossible. Change, evolution of ourselves, however, is very possible, if we’d simply allow it to happen.

From Beginning to End

Why are beginnings so difficult? Really, you would think the middle part would be the hardest part. But no, in my experience, the beginning is the hardest part. I don’t understand. I mean, it’s just the start. Why is writing so difficult sometimes?

But you know what? It’s okay. As hard as it can be, that means the reward for it is going to be even better. Not necessarily a physical reward, but the feeling of accomplishment. So you know what, it’s going to be okay.

I’ll find my start. I’ll find my place. I will get published. Say it again. I will find my start. I will get published. I CAN do this. Enter it into your mind. I WILL GET PUBLISHED.

There you have it. There’s the voice. Very simple. Now we simply need to relocate the conductor of our internal orchestra.

He takes his place upon the stand, the crowd falls quickly silent. Rustling can be heard as the players arrange their instruments and their music. Indeed, this piece promises to be intricate, and it is important to be as comfortable as possible. The conductor raises his baton into the air, and the orchestra collectively takes a deep breath. His hand slowly descends, and music begins to play, filling the air with slow and gentle music. Each player has a bigger roll, for if they stood alone, the music would not work.

I have been trying to fix one piece of my mind or the other, rather than the entirety of it. I must take all that I have learned and sew it together. I have my conductor, now I need each piece of the orchestra. Let us go over all that we have learned.

We have learned about set routines, and pushing yourself to do it every day even when you feel like you cannot. Write something, even if it is absolute crap. In the end, you wrote.

We have learned meditation and the act of quieting the mind and removing distractions. It is easy to become caught up in the modern world of phones and computers, and completely forget about our own art and our own minds.

We have learned about the power of music, and the power of musical palette cleansing. Especially when it comes to Synesthesia, music with words can sometimes be detrimental.

We have learned the power of knowledge. Each day we must learn something new, and never stop learning. Just because we are not in school does not mean we cannot learn. It does not have to be knowledge obtained from the internet, or even from a book. Sometimes the power of listening is just as valuable.

We have learned the power of listening is for more than just stories. Sometimes sitting outside and listening to the birds in the trees, or the wind whispering through the leaves.

We have learned to ignore the crippling self doubt that comes along with being involved in any art form. The fear that we won’t be good enough. We are still human, and sometimes it does slip in, but we are learning to try.

We have learned that no matter how many things you try, or how much you learn, it does not suddenly get better. Learning is an on going process. You cannot simply decide one day to be something, and do nothing about it afterwards. That is silliness. Everything we’ve learned on this list, we must keep going and keep reminding ourselves of these lessons.

We learned the value of speaking from the heart, rather than for the gratification of being recognized. Though having our work acknowledged is good, our talents are not dictated by the amount of views we receive, or the amount of applause.

My orchestra is still coming together, but already I can hear the music beginning to play. The voice I have long thought dead has returned, and the music is so beautiful. The silence was deafening for so long, it is a wonder to hear such beautiful noise again.

So we carry on, we continue to learn, and we never stop. We never cease being until such a time as our being has ceased.
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Author’s Note: I have been trying to write a book for a few… well. A very long time now. Just a few days ago I decided to abandon the book and pick up a short story gig. For a few hours I stared at a blank document on the computer, and decided to try my hand at free writing. I hadn’t intended to share it with anyone but myself, but upon rereading it I realized just how beautiful and raw it really was. So I share it with you now, and I hope it helps someone else.

I am a bully

Bullying has hit an all time high thanks to the technology we all crave. It follows us home; we are subjected to the cruelties of the online world where doing something as simple as stating one’s own opinion can launch a fire storm of epic proportions. We see movements every day against bullying, raising awareness and starting campaigns. None of us ever want to admit that we’re bullies, especially now. But I’m going to be brave and admit that I am a bully.

When I was little, there was a girl. She was the same age as me. We liked all the same things. We were best friends. When she fell, I’d laugh at her, sometimes further shove her down with insults and embarrassing comments. When she’d cry, I’d tell her she was stupid for crying. When she was angry I’d taunt her, then make her feel guilty for standing up for herself. No matter how badly I treated her, she wanted desperately for my love and affections, so we remained best friends.

As we grew older, the bullying grew with us, and became much worse. Soon I was cutting this sweet little girl, and forcing her to live in my own personal hell with me. Every time she tried to show me light, I broke it until it was dark as well. Each time she tried to make new friends, I embarrassed her and made her cry. The name calling from the other kids was only made worse by me as I echoed it and remained a constant reminder of it. I called her stupid and ugly, told her she’d never find love and she’d always be alone. I remember telling her one night “at least you have a vagina. Men will always want to fuck you, even if they don’t love you.” We were thirteen.

Speaking of thirteen, the girl started cutting herself and I made fun of her scars. Finally one day I convinced her that her life meant nothing. She tried to kill herself. She managed to live, however, but spent nine days locked in a hell that was supposed to be a rehabilitation ward. Did my bullying stop there? No. In fact, it got worse. I began to treat her as though she were diseased. I told her everyone was watching her. Judging her. Wishing she’d died. She believed me. When another student shoved her down and said she was “just too stupid to die”, she nearly broke again. None of the teachers wanted to help her because she didn’t fit the ideal girl type. I made her believe they were right.

Every failure, every harsh word, I’ve thrown at her and kept reminding her until finally the sweet and innocent girl began to break. I made her feel like she was worth absolutely nothing. Settling would be her best option, because otherwise she’d always be alone. Relationships failed. Friendships fell apart. Distance grew further and further between people who were always supposed to love one another. And it was all her fault, or so I made her believe.

You see, I am a bully. I am the worst kind of bully you can imagine. I am my own self critic. The girl I’ve tortured since childhood was myself…..

We see campaigns launching all the time to try and end bullying. But what of our own self abuse? What of the constant negativity? We’re told to just look in the mirror and lie to ourselves, try to convince ourselves that we are good, and beautiful, and if we keep telling ourselves this, we’ll eventually begin to believe it. The problem is every time I look in the mirror, I see my scars. I see the haunted eyes of a scared little girl who wants love, affection, and acceptance. I see the torn heart of a girl who is still tearing herself apart even though all she has left is scar tissue. I see the darkened mind of a woman who tries to keep herself inspired, who tries to hold onto, and see, the beauty and good the world has to offer…only to witness it crumble around her.

I see a girl who thinks ending it all would be the better option.

For some reason, she holds on to hope. She clings to the positive and eats up any of the good that comes her way, which often times only turns bad because she obsesses and loses her identity to try and make more of a good thing happen…which only further makes her miserable.

I see a girl who lashes out at those around her because she didn’t know how to deal with the crumbling world around her, and she feels as though she’s drowning. Suffocating.

The problem with bullying is so much of it is internal, the only way to truly fix the problem is to fix ourselves first.

This post has no conclusion. It doesn’t end on a happy note, or an inspirational story to prove that you, too, can grow past this because the simple fact is, it’s a fight I’m still fighting. I want to help, I want to inspire. But I cannot lie. I will not lie to you. However. There is one thing I can most assuredly say, with absolute honesty.

You are not alone.

Know your limits. Know your boundaries. Know when you’ve had enough.. And know when it is time to swallow your pride and admit you need help or cannot do this on your own.

You. Are. Not. Alone.

The Past is History

As a society, we are forever focused on moving forward. We crave the newest phones, the newest cars, the newest computers. The world around us is faster paced than ever before, Home cooked meals have been replaced with numerous fast food chains that seem to pop up over night, and dinner time conversation has become yelling at the television during a sporting event.

Instead of stopping to smell the roses, we are downloading digital ones. Social interaction is done by text messaging rather than actually speaking to one another. Education is becoming optional, with schools letting out more and more for pointless breaks. Higher education is too expensive for many, and our intelligence is measured by standardized tests.

We work hard to make money, and we dream of spending that money on grand and glorious things–like a vacation. But often times, it is the work itself that prevents us from doing much more than working. Never ending cycle.

With everything spinning so far and so fast, everything being propelled forward, it is very difficult for any of us to turn our heads and look into the past. Indeed, so often we are taught to keep our eyes forward and let the past remain in the past. It is important to not allow the past to rule us, no matter negative or positive. But it is equally important to remember that our history defines us as people.

I do not speak of such things like wars, and actions of our ancestors. I speak of our individual histories. The reason I have brought this up and made it a point to make a blog about it is I have been in a very bad place mentally for a few months now. As terrifying as it is for me to admit, this cycle almost broke me. I’ve cried more recently than I have in much of my life. I’ve felt more alone now more than ever before. It is difficult to hold on to hope, to hold on to dreams, when it feels as though the world around you is crumbling every time you look around. It was the closest I’ve come to being broken by my own mind in a very long time.

One night in particular I was in my bed, my mind racing with thoughts. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t do much more than cry. I had lost so much hope, and faith, in so many things….especially myself. You may be asking yourself now why I began the blog talking about society and the future, when now I talk about myself and the past. It’s simple. The past, for once, saved me. Instead of turning my thoughts to the future, I turned them to the past. Normally this is an equally terrible thing to do, as I have many demons and skeletons waiting to throw all of my mistakes in my face to rub salt into the wounds. I forced myself to focus on those who had passed before me. I focused on my grandfather, so hard until I could hear his voice. I focused on my friend after whom my daughter is named until I could hear her voice. I remembered them, remembered their smiles, their words. Death puts quite a bit into perspective. The living are caught in the fast paced, never ending cycle of the world around us…. but the dead are not. We are little more than the memories we leave behind. Those people, now gone, were proud of me. Those people, now given a fresh perspective and now no longer forced to follow in that cycle, have left memories fro me to recall and draw faith from. The memories from the dead are more comforting at times because of this.

This led to more happy memories. More happy snapshot moments in my head that helped me see that perhaps the world wasn’t a dark and cold place like it sometimes seems. It reminded me that…. sometimes we fail. Sometimes we fall. Sometimes we are beaten, and sometimes we are broken. Sometimes, however if we listen hard enough to our pasts, we’ll find whispers long forgotten that can help us pull through. They cannot necessarily heal us, no that is left up to us to do. The memories are a stepping stone. We cannot rely on the past to do everything for us, and we cannot fear the future. Needless to say the only thing that successfully committed suicide that night was the negativity rattling me to the core. It won’t stay away, obviously, as this is as much a never ending cycle as the new phones we crave each year. But for now, I can use my time to create a few more happy memories to use as ammunition in the future.

Another lesson I gathered from this, and this one made me truly rethink myself–We are a huge influence on other people. I began to wonder how many of my friends often found themselves in similar positions, searching their pasts for any hope, or any light in the darkest tunnel. It made me think…. Am I being the type of person that I want to be? Am I being the person whose memories would help pull them through? Am I being true to myself, and to those around me? It is quite a bit to think about.

It is now that I end with this. I urge each and every one of you to stop, for just a bit. Put down your phones, shut your computers, park your cars. Reach out to your friends, to your families. Love them entirely. You never know when it is your voice, memories of you, that may help pull them out of a bad place.

Suffer in Silence

Suffer in Silence

There are many pros and cons to working a graveyard shift. Many of them you would expect, and some depend on perspective. The traffic is rather slow, so you are left with quite a bit of free time to do things you’d like to do. Except you are confined to a very small area. You don’t have to handle quite as much business as your daytime coworkers, but you are often left for almost eight hours without the sound of another human voice, or another human face. You have to make sure to bring whatever you need with you, because if you live in a small town like I do, everything has closed by the time you get to work. Forgot something at home? Oh well. Didn’t bring a lunch? Twinkies for dinner it is, then. Feeling a little lonely? Oh, most of your friends are already asleep. So it’s just you, your entertainment, and the buzz of electrical lights.

Or if you walk outside, you get to hear Sonic Radio. At least, where I work. And no, it’s not 24 hours. Don’t ask me.

I knew most of this when I first began my graveyard shift. Some of it I learned, and I picked up different tricks as I went. I come in loaded down with everything I may, or may not, need. I double everything. Even if I know I don’t need it, I always bring at least two. Better to have too much than not enough, right?

One thing I didn’t expect, however, was how quickly it got to the point where normal means of entertainment just wouldn’t cut it, and how often I would just be spent alone with my own thoughts. At first it wasn’t that big of a deal, I’d usually find something else to entertain myself with. Or I’d clean the lobby obsessively until my bosses started hiding the cleaning supplies from me. And sometimes being trapped inside my own head wasn’t so bad.

I’d imagine my favorite celebrities coming through the door and sweeping me away for a life of fame, glamor, and adventure. I’d picture something bad happening and how I’d magically save the day. I’d play out conversations and other fun or entertaining scenarios that would never happen.

It’s all well and good. Until the nights you’re sad. Or angry. Or feel anything but contentment.

I could feel the start of a low coming on, so I brought my penguin with me to work. He makes me feel better sometimes, and it’s a comfort to have him. I know I get weird looks for having a penguin sitting on the desk behind me, but I don’t care. He’s my comfort object, not yours, nee ner nee ner. But the penguin, as cute as he is, can’t stop the thoughts that go through my head.

I was alone. I am alone. At first, you don’t really think about it. Being physically alone is so much different than being mentally alone. Tonight I felt both. My mind threw every embarrassing situation at me, every horrible mistake I’d ever done, every worst case scenario that could happen.

As my thoughts grew darker, everything I’d held back for years suddenly came rushing back to me. I could feel the lump tightening in my throat, my heart pounded in my chest as I silently fought the inner battle with my demons. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, tears tickling the very edges of my eyes as the torture continued on and on. I started cleaning, as cleaning is sometimes therapeutic. But no, this made the taunts even worse. I could feel my soul screaming in agony, the shadows closing in, and finally when I thought I was going to break I looked up and I saw my reflection.

My cheeks were a darker shade of red. My eyes were red. But my face gave nothing away. I was so stoic, that anyone looking at me would never guess the hell going on inside my head. I was in my head, and I couldn’t tell. You never know what to expect when you look into your own reflection. Many times it is shocking. Tonight was no exception to the rule.

No one could see that lump in my throat, no one could feel the burn of the tears I held back. No one could hear my heart breaking into a thousand pieces, or the taunts that scraped across my mind like glass. My eyes gave me away. They screamed a thousand screams, begging and pleading to let all of this out freely. My thoughts changed to all the words I’d never said, all the things I wish I could say. All that I wish I could do, or could have done in the past. I could not stand to stare at the girl in the reflection any longer, because there was nothing I could do for her silent suffering. I wish I could. I wanted to reach into the reflection and hold her, tell her everything was going to be okay. Force her to see the good she’d done, and all she’d contributed.

But I looked away, and strangely I felt like I’d betrayed myself. So many others look away too because they don’t see it.

I grin, I smile, I laugh. Inside I’m being torn apart and I can’t fix it. I can’t make the demons stop howling, or the skeletons in my closest stop rattling the doors. The ghosts of my memories taunt me from the shadows, luring me further and further into the darkness. Taunting me with relief.

Onwards I go, suffering in silence. I’ll keep that smile on my face, and I’ll laugh at your jokes. I’ll hug you and hold you, make you feel better and tell you everything will be okay. Look into my eyes sometimes, and maybe you’ll see that sometimes that’s all I want too. Sorry for all the word vomit here, I just had to get it out someway or another lol.

Circle Societies: Are They More Deadly than “Shock Rockers”?

“Spoken like a true circle queen. See, skinny, socially-privileged white people get to draw this neat little circle. And everyone inside the circle is “normal”. Anyone outside the circle needs to be beaten, broken and reset so that they can be brought into the circle. Failing that, they should be institutionalized. Or worse – Pitied. Why would you feel sorry for someone that gets to opt out of the inane courteous formalities which are utterly meaningless, insincere and therefore degrading? This kid doesn’t have to pretend to be interested in your back pain, your secretions or your grandma’s itchy place. Imagine how liberating it would be to live a life free of all the mind-numbing social niceties. I don’t pity this kid – I envy him.—–House, M.D Episode Lines in the Sand

While the show House, M.D was still airing, I fell in absolute love with the lead character played by Hugh Laurie. He was an ass, a big one. What made me really love him was the fact that he did not care about what society thought of him, no matter the circumstance. He went the extra mile, he helped others that would be otherwise overlooked (for whatever reason), and he was an intelligent man. The quote I’ve posted above for you is probably one of my favorites, because of how true it is.

I first started this post with the intention of showing the world why shock rock isn’t actually all that shocking, but I’ve decided in the process of writing multiple drafts that I would turn this into much more. In order to do that, however, I am going to have to slice open a lot of my own wounds and let them bleed. I will have to walk down a dark memory lane that I would prefer never to see again, but in order to get my point across I must provide ample evidence–and since the best evidence is often our personal experiences, I am left with little choice. For such a cause as this, however, I am willing–and happy–to do so.

Though I was not aware of the actual “Circle Society” concept, part of me always knew of its existence. When I was in fourth grade, I changed schools. I wanted to desperately to fit in, as I had no friends. I’d spent the early part of my life surrounded by adults, and I spent preschool-third grade surrounded by friends. This was, to say the least, a huge change for me. Not only was this school bigger than what I was used to (the school I originally attended was preschool-12th, all in one building. This was just two grades and the numbers were about equal in attendance), but there were a lot more rich, white people. The jump I made, therefore, was not just in school and town, but now I was surrounded by an entirely different social class. Unfortunately, our money didn’t change with it, so I was still middle class trying to play up to the expectations of the first.

I remember there was this girl, a bit younger than me. She and I were friends so long as her posse wasn’t nearby. Well, wanting so desperately to fit in I decided I wanted to try to be their friends as well. They looked down their noses at me at first, and then put me through a series of vigorous tests. Yes, you read that correctly. I had to prove myself worthy enough to be in their circle, and this was only the fourth grade! I was told who I could and couldn’t speak to, how to dress, how to talk, etc. I was given a list of the latest “slang” that I had to use at any given moment. If I were to ever get in trouble, I was told to play stupid because “that will always get you out of trouble”. There was no friendship here, only numbers and status quo. Needless to say it did not take long for me to realize that I’d rather be alone than be caught up in such closed minded behavior. The moment I realized I did not need them, I started gathering other friends and created my own little circle, and we were the misfits of the schoolyard.

I wasn’t done trying to fit in, however. The way the school system was set up in this town, I changed schools once more to go to middle school. Some of my friends accompanied me, others went off to different schools, and I was again left alone. But I can honestly say I tried my hardest to fit in. I read magazines, I kept up with the music that was “in” at the time, so forth. I tried, once more, to be friends with the popular girls (individually a lot of these girls were pretty awesome to have as friends, it was only when they were in pack formation that they became the demon spawn of all that was popular). I went to church, joined Christian functions and clubs, etc. Looking back now I rather hate myself for how long I stayed in my land of self discovery when it seemed everyone around me had already found their place in the world.

There was one person who meant the world to me. She was my sanctuary. When things got tough at home, I ran to her side. She never judged me, only tried to help me. I wish there were more people like her in the world, because it would be a far better place if there were. My 6th grade year of school, however, she passed away from cancer and I was left feeling completely alone. This is not a good place for a soon-t0-be teenager to be, especially one who already feels rather isolated. I was not really accepted in my own family (because I was not male), I was not accepted in the groups of people around me (because I wasn’t rich, or stupid, enough), and now the one person I could rely on was gone….

A darkness began growing within me, one that I could not explain to those around me. I could not put into words what I felt festering within my mind, so I turned to poetry. That was my new release. I began dressing in all black, because that is how I felt. Black and dark. This may seem rather cliche’ to you, but this was the closest I came to finding myself at that age. I isolated myself even further, preferring to sit out and read rather than participate with the others. I embraced that feeling of darkness for the longest time, but even still part of me longed to fit in. If only I could have killed that piece of me earlier on, perhaps I would not have experienced much of what I have.

I was taken to a therapist that diagnosed me Depressed (No duh), and medicated me to the point that I became a zombie. At least, that’s how I describe it. I felt nothing. It was a terrifying feeling, to tell you the truth. I felt no emotions, I felt no joy. Only that darkness grew within me and begged to be released. I cut myself, mutilated my arms and still carry the scars to this day. It was the only way I could feel anything. It started off as simple cuts, just to remind myself that I was still alive, but steadily those little cuts did nothing for me and they became burns, slices, cuts with scissors, etc. I remember having an eraser and scrubbing the skin off of my hand just to try and make sense of what I was feeling inside, and make it a physical feeling. That’s why a lot of people cut or self mutilate. Emotions are illogical, they are not physical things. It is very hard to fix something that is not physical. But when cutting yourself, you’ve put into physical means what you are feeling on the inside, and a physical wound can be fixed. (Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form condoning self harm. If you feel the urge to self harm, please seek help from someone. It does not have to be a therapist, or psychiatrist, but seek help somewhere.)

The psychiatrist I was seeing that had me so medicated ended up being just another money hungry jerk who saw only dollar signs when he looked at me. I felt completely betrayed and no matter how many times I tried to tell those around that the medication was not working, no one would listen to me. Finally one night, I decided “No one will listen to me. I do not feel alive. Why should I keep walking around like an animated corpse?” and tried to overdose on some of those medications I’d been described. I had a terrible sense of irony even then, you see, and I wanted the cause of my death to be the very thing that was supposed to “help” me.

People say that attempting, or committing, suicide is cowardice. I disagree. When you are faced with your own death, and you decide to take it, it is one of the bravest things you’ll ever have to decide. The braver thing, however, is telling this feeling, this urge, to end your own life “No. I will not go through with this.” I hate hearing people talk about teen suicide and say things like “It’s just the “in thing” now.” I’ve been in this situation, I know what mindset you have to be in to go through with it. In those moments after I took those pills, I accepted my death and for those few moments I felt peace at last.

Obviously I am here, and I am writing this to you, so you are aware that I did not succeed in killing myself. I was taken to the hospital where my stomach was pumped (ew), and after a night in the ICU–as well as a few days in a regular room–I was shipped off to a mental rehabilitation center. I was alienated there as well. My first night there, a girl who was meant to be my roommate threatened to kill me. Keep in mind, I’m 13 years old at the time. That terrified me. The patients–with the exception of that girl–were actually quite nice to me. It was the people that were supposed to “help” us that were cruel. I was made fun of on a daily basis, and if some of the other patients taunted or teased me they weren’t stopped (in fact, often times these “counselors” would jump in to join the “fun”). There was one girl in particular that I became very close with, and I clung to her like she was the last solid thing on this earth. As a result, I was openly called “a disgusting lesbian”. Nine days I spent in this place. Nine days of hell. Nine days of never ending torment from people that were supposed to better us. Though I suppose they were preparing us for the real world, and they helped make me stronger. According to my medical records and tests, I wasn’t depressed, I was bipolar. The drugs that the first psychiatrist had prescribed me had actually proven to increase suicidal tendencies in people under the age of 18, and I was on quite a few drugs.

I felt paranoid, out of place, and now I was bullied because of the fact that I’d been in a “nut house”. One girl even shoved me to the ground and told me “What, too stupid to die or something?”

Now, here’s where the story changes. As alone, and horrible as I felt, I reached out for anything that would help. Back when MTV played music (I know, what a concept right?), I would leave that channel on all the time. Late at night one evening, I discovered The Osbournes, which then led me to discover Ozzy. I grabbed that and held on to it, siphoning as much of it as I could find. I remember his lyrics hitting home in a way I’d never experienced before.

All the things I put me through
I wouldn’t wish my hell on you
You’ll never know what’s going on inside

Just another lonely broken hero
Picking up the pieces of my mind
Running out of faith and hope and reason
I’m running out of time
Running out of time

Trouble always seems find
A way to live inside my mind
My haunted head and me remain alone
Underneath my masquerade
A simple man who’s so afraid
I try to find a light to guide me home

I remember one night I was talking to a friend of mine on the phone, a very dear friend who saw me through a lot of my internal demons. I regret to this day hurting her like I did when I attempted suicide, and I’m not sure that she’s ever completely forgiven me. But I digress. On the phone, had MTV in the background, the Osbournes had already gone off and I remember saying “I just wish someone understood what I was going through. I just wish someone other than you understood me.” And as soon as the sentence left my mouth, the premiere of mObscene, by Marilyn Manson, came on. I looked into his eyes, and felt immediately a connection. I cannot describe it, but I knew that anyone who looked like that HAD to understand what I was feeling.

I became obsessed with Ozzy, Manson, Queen, Black Sabbath, Alice Cooper, etc. All these “shockers” that people warned against. I felt a connection with them, I felt like I belonged with them. They were putting my feelings into words that I could never find on my own. I started cutting myself a bit less and less, but still I was not quite the same. I was getting closer, though! So close to finding myself and finding where I fit in.

One day, during my Physical Education class, the teacher wasn’t there so we started watching a movie called Bowling for Columbine. Marilyn Manson comes onto the screen, and of course the other girls (who bullied me constantly–they were the ones who said I was just too stupid to die)) started making fun of him. “He’s weird.” “Bet he worships the devil” “That mother fucker is insane.” Then, of course, they all looked at me. “Do you actually like this fucker?” “Yes I do.” “You’re just as fucked up as he is.” I took that as a compliment. “Really? You really think so? That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all year. I’m so glad you think of me as intelligent, open minded, and not afraid to say what I think.” And she shut up. Oh my god. She. Shut. Up. She stopped picking on me! I could have done happy dances!

As we were watching the interview, an almost magical thing happened. The room had fallen completely silent, and I could actually hear what was being said. Michael Moore asked:

If you were to talk directly to the kids at Columbine or the people in that community, what would you say to them if they were here right now?

I leaned closer, wanting to hear precisely how Manson would answer. When he did answer, it felt like he was talking directly to me.

I wouldn’t say a single word to them I would listen to what they have to say, and that’s what no one did.

That stuck with me. To this day it sticks with me. No one had listened to me, and look where I’d ended up. I knew, in that moment however, that I would probably never meet Marilyn Manson. But it was such a relief to know that if the day ever came, he would listen to me. More importantly, he would understand. That’s what I lacked in life. Someone to listen to me, and someone to understand me. I was still on medication at the time, and it was making me feel terrible. I felt paranoid all the time, I felt upset constantly. I could not handle my emotions, or the world around me. I tried (once more) to tell everyone that the medicine was not working. No one listened, again. When I heard him say that, I finally had the courage to do what I felt was right. I had the courage to do all of this on my own, because I had the release I needed and it didn’t involve cutting, it didn’t involve counselors or therapists. It didn’t involve people controlling my life for me. It involved me taking control of my own life and deciding that no matter what this “disorder” brought my way, I was going to beat it. If people that I looked up to could stand in front of the public eye and beat their demons all the time, damn it, so could I.

Music was my inspiration, and music was my weapon.

People like Ozzy Osbourne and Marilyn Manson are weird. They’ve done a lot of fucked up shit. But because they did a lot of fucked up shit, they understand it better than anyone else. They aren’t shocking, they are being blunt and pushing things into your faces that make you think. That’s what a lot of people don’t want to do. They don’t want to think. System of a Down is the same way.

These same circle societies are the ones who point fingers at them. Marilyn Manson, Ozzy Osbourne, etc caused my son/daughter/friend, etc to commit suicide. I highly doubt that. Chances are, your friend/son/daughter, etc wasn’t that balanced anyway. Shock Rockers promote evil and worship Satan, it says so in their music.  No, actually if you read the lyrics and comprehend what they are saying, there is a far deeper message.

Side note, did you know that the word “Satan” means to “oppose or rebel”? Meaning if you’ve rebelled against something at any point in your life, you are being Satan. “Hail Satan” therefore means “Yay rebellion!” Sort of. Lol.

Shock Rock is designed to entertain, to make you think, to make you accept what people try to make you forget (political, religious, etc happenings), and so on.

“But what about the children? Do we want to promote this message to our children?” A). You are the parent. You should control what your child sees/hears, etc. If your child is listening to Black Sabbath, that is not the fault of Black Sabbath. The members of Black Sabbath did not come into your child’s room and say “LISTEN TO US OR WE’LL CUT YOUR ARM OFF AND BEAT YOU WITH IT”. B). Yes, how dare we promote free thinking to our children. C). While you’re telling them not to go to that Alice Cooper concert, but handing them money so they can go see that horror movie everyone is talking about, you might want to rethink your standing as a parent.

Shock Rockers are scapegoats, because it is easy to blame them. They’re in the public, they’re, supposedly, shocking….But people need to start taking responsibility for their own actions rather than blaming the closest person around them. Unless these people actually walk into your house, you cannot blame them for the actions of your friends/children/family members.

This does not just apply to music, of course, it applies to everything in the world. Books, for example, have always been a very deep thinking tool, and weapon–a weapon that is, let’s face it, far deadlier than music will ever be–ever since the printing press was invented. No, further still, since written language was created. Humans are deadly.

I know this blog has been quite long, and I thank all of you for reading this in its entirety. I could continue on in this fashion for ages, but I will simply wrap up with this.

If you, my dear reader, have felt alone, confused, etc and have contemplated suicide, I urge you to find your sanctuary in something. I urge you to find your release in anything that will help you. You are not alone, no matter how you may feel. You do not have to find your sanctuary in music as I have done, but find it somewhere. The world does not get better, but you can become stronger and battle it.

If you seek help, friendship, etc, you are more than welcome to leave a comment or contact me in some way. I make myself readily available, and though I am not a trained psychologist/therapist/psychiatrist, I can listen and I will try to help in some way.

But most importantly… Everyone needs to remember that the circles of society are not the place to be. Be happy with who you are, create your own circle, and be proud of yourself. Do not care of the closed minded hatred they spew, you are stronger than that. Walk your own path, discover who you are.

Thank you all once more for reading this, and I hope it’s provided a good amount of insight as well as, possibly, helped someone.